i'm concerned.

is it possible? do i actually, kind of, in a shamefaced, reminds-me-of-when-my-taste-in-music-was-unironic kind of way, like this avril lavigne song.

Love and Grace in a Time of Madness

We do not, now, regard politics as an art, for the same reasons we do not consider prostitution or burglary an art. Far, far too many laments for the once respected role of statesman have been written, so I say only this: what they have done we have allowed them to do. As we have expected less of ourselves as citizens, we have expected less of our leaders, and they have certainly sunk to the level of our expectations.

Reading three critical theorists of modernity, I see that all three turn toward the aesthetic and the beautiful as liberatory forces, and it would be a radical revisioning of politics to think of it as an art, a composition. The proof of the wisdom of a current action would be its beauty, and its beauty would be proof of its authenticity.

Needless to say, I’m not about to walk into the DLC offices and suggest we consider a “politics of the beautiful.” (Though God knows they need a politics of something: Joe Lieberman is the antithesis of the politics of the beautiful. “I’ve got Joe-mentum” would not be considered an authentic statement under this rubric.)

A politics rooted in the world would be anchored by the beauty of the world, its loveliness, inherent fragility, and constant change. The fact that all things pass away would be cause for consideration but not despair. The world exists in flux. Until we undertand that the only way to end change is to end life—and that is exactly what evangelical Xtians are hoping for in their fevered apocalyptic imaginings (never trust people whose fantasy life, rather than centering on George Clooney, centers on the melting flesh of the ungodly)—our politics will tend toward, and ultimately end with, totalitarianism.

Simone Weil writes, “Politics have a very close affinity to art—to arts such as poetry, music and architecture” (206). Weil sees politics as composition based on inspiration. Inspiration allows “the indispensable degree of concentration required for composition on a multiple plane” (207) and politics, rightly understood, is such a space of multiplicity, of harmonizing.

The totalitarian leader is such a compelling figure because he represents a harmonic personality, one in whom all doubts are resolved and all tension and ambiguity vanquished. It is because we see so few people who have acomplished this that our eyes are drawn to this negative, dark version of wholeness. The Buddha achieved a similar harmony, but it is noteworthy that he did not then attempt to run for office. A harmonious life requires either denial or acceptance, and totalitarian harmony begins and ends with denial and in denial.

We do not see politics as an art because we se it mainly as a way to acquire and keep power. For Weil, this is a fundamental misunderstanding. “Power is not an end. By nature, in essence and by definition, it constitutes exclusively a means. It is to politics what a piano is to musical composition” (209).

Politics rightly understood would not be premised on a conception of human, and therefore societal, perfectability. The idea that humans can be made perfect and that only their continued and continual denial of self constitutes virtue is an oppressive idea.

cleaning up

Going through old notebooks, I find, is like discovering notes former-me left for now-me. Former-me is pretty witty--here's a quote I like: "The Bush Administration makes me want to shove crayons up my nose until I am dumb enough to believe anything they say."

I'm reading Leaves of Grass right now, and it's astonishingly good. I forget that I have it, and then every few years I pick it up to re-read it, and then I want to run around reading it to people. No, listen, I want to say, Listen to this and it will change your life. Listen, and look, witness, and wait...

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led toward life, and does not wait at
the end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier.

And this:
Beginning my studies the firrst step pleas'd me so much,
The mere fact consciousness, these forms, the power of motion,
The least insect or animal, the senses, eyesight, love,
The first step I say awed me and pleas'd me so much,
I have hardly gone and hardly wish'd to go any farther,
But stop and loiter all the time to sing it in ecstatic songs.

pause for poetry

Hey you
begin again
Again?
again again you'll see
it's easy begin again...

--Grace Paley

Switzerland: Skip It

After about three hours in Zurich, I noticed that there was this weird tension, a knotting of the muscles between my shoulder blades. I couldn't figure out why. The next day, in Lucerne, walking around the lake, I realized why: this was a seriously uptight country. The Californian in me was restless. Everything seemed so managed, and rule-bound, and overly concerned with the appearance of perfection. There was no air, no space, no flow, as we Californians like to say. The trees along the path were planted at precisely spaced intervals, and the benches were similarly aligned. I had the feeling that if the Swiss could make their country into a precise (red) square, they would; that the irregularity and unpredictability of nature was rather bothersome to them. I came across the most pristine rectangle of lawn with rectangular beds of flowers along each side. The flower beds were roped off. At first I thought this was to keep people out of the flowerbeds, but when I looked more closely, it was only the tall flowers that were constrained, presumably so that they didn't topple over onto the lawn and create some kind of world-ending chaos. Even the flowers in Switzerland are kept within bounds.

Switzerland is famous for its beauty, and it is a beautiful country, if you like landscapes to be rather like stage sets. For me, I'll take California. There might be trash everywhere, and strip malls, but nothing I saw in Switzerland comes remotely close to the wonder that is Yosemite, the size and grandeur of Lake Tahoe. I don't want to plan my life for the next ten years, I don't want to have people lose their minds if I'm five minutes late, and I like my flowers, like my life, to spill over and out of the careful boundaries I have imagined for them.

pause for poetry

This poem reads like a love poem, but I think it's interesting to read it as a poem about being in love with yourself, unconditional self-acceptance.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing in you.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can
hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars
apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart).

--e.e.cummings--

a few things i've also been wondering about

Check out Tom Tomorrow's latest comic. Yeah, you might have to watch a day pass, but then you get to read other salon articles which are almost certainly guaranteed to depress you. Good times!

Tom Tomorrow's blog is also on my blog rotation (blogation?). Go visit if you have time.